


Not a Normal Census Interview

by Seaward



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Canon Character of Color, Census, Cultural Differences, Don't copy to another site, M/M, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:13:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26646574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seaward/pseuds/Seaward
Summary: Spencer's work for the 2020 Census (while on sabbatical) brings him to the door of a San Francisco row house where he meets Ronon and his team. Spencer quickly becomes involved in their various technological and political activities and more intimately involved with Ronon.
Relationships: Ronon Dex/Spencer Reid, background Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Comments: 10
Kudos: 137





	Not a Normal Census Interview

**Author's Note:**

> I'm pretending events from the final episodes of CM and SGA both took place in the last year, bringing characters together at approximately those ages and life stages. But you probably don't need to know CM to understand this story. The pandemic crept in because this is set in San Francisco with the 2020 Census, but it's not the focus of the story. Many thanks to Elayna for making everything I write better and just being a great person! Any remaining mistakes are mine.

Spencer tapped "Attempting Census Address" on his government-issued smart phone. Then he knocked on the spot his analysis suggested was least likely to be touched by others, the upper left corner of the heavy wooden door. It had been painted a bright lilac that matched the inner trim around all the windows on the tidy Victorian row house. The trim around the door and the outer trim for the windows was aqua, which along with the fainter blue of the walls qualified the dwelling as one of San Francisco "painted ladies." Not that there was any place on the census questionnaire for such information, but Spencer couldn't help rambling, at least in his own mind.

His team at the BAU didn't understand why he'd insisted on using his sabbatical to take temporary work as a census enumerator. Those who saw him as cerebral or socially awkward rarely appreciated his desire to interact with a diversity of people and explore new places and perspectives. But that had been part of what drew him to the BAU originally. After his near death experience with Maeve—reminding him that the world was a good place and that he needed to do what he loved—legwork for the census gave Spencer a chance to make a difference without the constant gore and stress of chasing serial killers.

It didn't take profiler skills to notice the twitch of a curtain or the shuffle of sock-footed steps approaching the door where he waited. Spencer carefully displayed the Census ID around his neck and the black Census messenger bag hanging from his shoulder. He stepped back to the very edge of the porch to allow more than six feet of distance as the door opened.

It only opened halfway to reveal a man in sweatpants and a dark blue "stand up for science" tee shirt with lines of text in different colors asserting such things as: "climate change is real" and "we've been to the moon." Spencer smiled as the respondent adjusted the ear loops on a photorealistic galaxy face mask, possibly Andromeda or Pegasus. His hair had grown into soft brown curls covering his ears and brushing his eyebrows. His arms were crossed and his forehead crinkled in a scowl, but Spencer knew at a glance he would at least be entertaining—before possibly slamming the door in Spencer's face.

"Hello, I'm Spencer Reid from the US Census Bureau. I'm here to complete a census questionnaire…" As he confirmed the address, that it should only take ten minutes, and held out a confidentiality notice, another person came up behind the first. This man was tall and lean. Dressed all in black, he was clearly keeping in shape despite current restrictions. His hair shot up in spikes despite being months beyond what Spencer suspected was a military haircut. The mere two inches of distance between his shoulder and the first man's back suggested long familiarity, or perhaps a more intimate relationship.

"Just set that on the floor," the first man said, waving widely at the confidentiality notice. Spencer noticed the Daleks on the front man's socks as he took a step backward to make room for the paper, almost running into his spiky-haired companion.

Spikey hair dodged sideways and back with the ease of habit and high situational awareness.

After he dodged away, a blue glow pulsed from above the doorway, reflecting off Spencer's hand and the confidentiality form he dropped in surprise.

"That's not—" Spiky hair reached for a sidearm that luckily wasn't there, confirming his military profile.

Spencer pulled back faster than he'd meant to, startled by the shift in lighting but instinctively keeping both men in view rather than let the blue glow distract him. It seemed to switch off the moment Spencer's hand retracted.

"No!" the lighter haired man holding the door interrupted his military friend—lover?—a bit harshly. "Something interesting is happening at last." Flailing a hand backward his eyes locked on Spencer as he asked, "What did you say your name was?"

The sudden intensity of focus and raised voice set off red flags in Spencer's mind. Had he stumbled across criminal activity or a potential mental health situation? And what could be mounted inside their door that would surprise even the occupants with sudden blue light? As Spencer surreptitiously looked for anything out of place and sifted through his eidetic memory for signs of PTSD or anxiety symptoms in the respondent, he calmly stated, "Spencer Reid, you're welcome to take a photo of my census badge if you'd like."

Spencer tried to hide his flinch as the dark-haired man moved without looking away, very much like a soldier reaching for his gun. It turned out he was only grabbing a tablet device that he used to snap a picture of Spencer and his census badge. "Does it glow like that when I step through?" He spoke from the side of his mouth, almost too quiet for Spencer to hear.

"Glad you finally figured that out." The man in the science shirt shook his head as his companion walked away with the tablet. Then sharpening his gaze on Spencer as if studying a bug under a microscope he said, "You want to step inside."

"No, thanks." Spencer shrugged in a way that had previously convinced mass murders he was harmless. "I need to stay outside and socially distanced for both our sakes. Can you tell me if you were living or staying at this address on April 1st, 2020?"

"Um, that's kind of complicated."

A woman in a short skirt holding large wooden spoons in each hand slipped into the space vacated by the military man. "Is there a reason for this inquiry during your worldwide epidemic?"

Spencer noted the word "your" and the air of authority that seemed to fill more space than the woman physically occupied. The way she held the spoons was more than vaguely threatening. Her body language was a puzzle Spencer couldn't solve without more data, so he followed the script he'd needed to return to anyway. "The paper in front of you explains not only confidentiality but also who to count on April 1st."

The man bent down and picked up the paper. "It says not to include Armed Forces personnel who live away but to include people staying here who have no permanent place to live." Without a pause he switched to shouting, "Sheppard, if you're talking to O'Neill anyway, ask him if we were all counted for the US Census already. Or ask Wally or whatever his name is, the one who actually pays attention to details."

That further confirmed Spencer's suspicions that at least Sheppard was military, but the "we" surprised him. The man at the door seemed as unlikely to be a soldier as Spencer seemed as a BAU agent. It also raised the question of why Sheppard would to be checking Spencer's identity with someone higher up in his command structure. And both of them moved very naturally within the personal space of the woman, but it didn't take a profiler to see she wasn't romantically involved or traditional family to either of them.

Pulling his thoughts back from profiling the odd group, Spencer reminded himself he had a different job to do at the moment. "If we could continue with the census interview, there will be places where we can clarify who is or is not counted. Could I get your first name?"

"Rodney, but I'm not a US citizen." The clipped endings on certain words had already suggested to Spencer that Rodney might be Canadian, but there was enough linguistic drift to indicate other influences as well. Of course, that made the US military connection even more intriguing.

Spencer typed in the name, something he still wasn't that technologically deft at, and said, "There aren't any questions about citizenship, just who lived where on April 1st. Do you have a middle name?"

Rodney wrinkled his nose in a way that humanized him and suggested he was used to speaking honestly, however much he might avoid saying or try to hide behind a grumpy façade. "Technically Rodney is my middle name, but I don't think you should need my full legal name when I'm not even a US citizen."

"I can use a nickname or unique description. Are you willing to give a last name?"

"McKay, and it's Dr. not Mr., if there's someplace for that on your form."

Suddenly the clues Spencer had been collecting all fell into place, as if he were ready to deliver a profile of Dr. Rodney McKay, who had a first name that embarrassed him so much he didn't want to speak it. He was a scientist, physics or at least a physical science seemed most likely, who probably brandished his IQ and his degrees to prove his genius and assert his superior knowledge over whatever military command he'd been contracting with for at least the past decade.

Only moments after solving that puzzle, an even more disconcerting figure stepped out from behind McKay and the only partially opened door as the woman slipped away. "Do I count for this census?"

"As of April 1st, did you live or sleep here most of the time? We're still trying to determine a population count for this address."

The new man was large, muscular, tattooed, and wearing a tight black sleeveless tee with leather pants and a vest. His hair framed his face in what Spencer thought were now called locs, with metal jewelry in his hair and around his neck unlike anything Spencer had seen before. But where the spiky haired man had moved away with a posture that screamed military, this one approached with the supple threat of someone used to violence and ready to kill on a moment's notice. The way he'd swapped positions with the woman was synchronized like a dance, but again, neither familial nor romantic. He spoke as if he'd learned English from Americans but had probably been multilingual before that.

Still, Spencer didn't feel threatened by him. If anything, the newcomer was attractive in a way Spencer rarely experienced. He seemed even more honest in his presentation than McKay had, like another person used to keeping secrets but eager to speak directly if the situation allowed. And perhaps eager to be counted in another country's census. "If you were staying at this address on April 1st and not counted somewhere else, I would be happy to take your name now."

"Doesn't need a legal name?"

The man crossed his arms in a pose that made Spencer twist inside. He shifted his eyes back to his smart phone and clicked to add another person. "I can even list a nickname if that makes you more comfortable."

"Ronon. R-O-N-O-N."

McKay sputtered, "That's enough. Sheppard's still checking if they counted us at—on base, you know?"

At that point, Sheppard came back with the tablet in one hand and a pile of papers in the other that were squared at one end but not the sides as if fresh from a printer tray. "Doesn't look like we've been counted yet." He leaned against the doorframe in the most exaggerated, non-military slouch Spencer had ever seen. He cocked his head and looked at Spencer in a way that probably got the man what he wanted nine times out of ten and said, "Once we take care of the census stuff, think you could read through this non-disclosure agreement? Then either come back to talk with us or call the number listed at the end?"

As Spencer took the papers, the blue glow from above the door didn't surprise him. Neither did his rapid read through the top page with its standard language involving classified information, executive orders, and enforcement options. He was a bit intrigued to see his full legal name listed along with references to all branches of the US military as well as government agencies "foreign, domestic, international, or yet to be specified."

Without a word, he slipped the documents into his census bag and asked the remaining interview questions, including Teyla and John Sheppard's names, all of their genders, and dates of birth. Some tells suggested Teyla and Ronon might be lying about their dates of birth, but his job was to record the information as given.

It was only when he reached the question about race for Ronon that the big man returned to view, taking the spot behind McKay, who still held the door and blocked most of the room from sight (although Spencer had seen enough to guess the house came furnished).

"If I choose 'Some Other Race'," Ronon asked, "You have a second question where you type whatever I say?"

Spencer had already typed in a long list for McKay's recited ancestry, culminating with "Neanderthal." While he'd initially guessed Ronon as Pacific Islander, he was more than curious to hear how the man would classify himself. "I will type whatever you tell me. What is your other race or origin?"

McKay tapped his foot and tightened his jaw but kept surprisingly silent as Ronon said, "Satedan. S-A-T-E-D-A-N."

That was a group Spencer had never heard of and was certainly going to look up later. For the time being he typed it in and spelled it back to confirm. Ronon bobbed his head and grunted in a manner that conveyed real satisfaction at being seen or known, in whatever way he perceived the US Census as affirming his heritage. His body language still read as dangerous, but Spencer would be willing to risk it for a chance to hear any stories the man might tell. Or anything else he might want to share with Spencer.

If they were in a situation where that was appropriate.

Which they weren't.

Spencer forced his mind back on track and completed the interview. Within two minutes he was on his way to another address, keeping the non-disclosure agreement in his bag and a branching trail of questions and conjectures in his head, for later.

#

Before returning to the lilac and teal trimmed row house that evening, Spencer sent a safety check in text to Penelope, using the phone and app she'd provided and assured him were secure.

"Three hours, little doc. Stay safe and *sparkly*!" she texted back. The nearly full sentences and asterisks instead of textspeak and emoticons were Penelope's version of showing restraint on his behalf.

Not wanting to dwell too long on what the team's former technical analyst might imagine he was going out to do, Spencer couldn't help smiling a bit as he knocked on the heavy wooden door.

Teyla opened it this time and raised an eyebrow at whatever she saw. "Please enter."

"Are you sure?" Spencer asked. He'd washed and changed clothes and face masks since work, but he hadn't been inside anyone else's house since he'd started working for the census. Before that, his BAU team had only made exceptions for each other because of all the time they spent in the jet and in offices together. After only a few months of shelter in place, entering a stranger's home this way felt like a violation of more than public health orders. Concerns for whatever top secret government project he had stumbled into were a distant second, especially given Spencer's innate curiosity.

"Get in and close the door!" He recognized McKay's voice, which seemed to shout from at least one room away.

Spencer stepped in and immediately looked up to see a hexagonal crystal glowing blue with silver lines crisscrossing and affixing it to a rectangular metal box above the door. As soon as Spencer was through the doorway, the glow ceased. Teyla closed and locked the door then said matter-of-factly, "I trust you will understand why I need to search you and your belongings?"

She set his brown leather messenger bag on a rug by the door and gave him a very thorough pat down that definitely demonstrated US military training, if not for thoroughness, then for what was considered acceptable with US civilians. "Please remove your shoes."

As he added his blue and white sneakers to a line near the door, Teyla pulled the nondisclosure agreement from his bag and carefully searched the rest.

McKay came in carrying what looked like a handheld video game. His eyes fixed immediately on Spencer's socks. Mismatched as always, Spencer had chosen TARDISes for his right foot and rainbow pride rhinos for his left. "I admire your taste in footwear," McKay said, still shuffling around in his Dalek socks as he waved his game around Spencer, his shoes, and his messenger bag.

Spencer watched carefully and saw symbols and data he guessed weren't from a game as he replied, "May I say, sir, I admire your taste in footwear."

"But would you be prepared if gravity suddenly reversed itself?" McKay asked with barely a smile at one corner of his mouth.

"Not at the moment," Spencer said, gesturing to the open flap on his messenger bag where Teyla had just finished searching and the pages of the nondisclosure agreement sitting in a loose pile on the hardwood floor beside it.

"Sheppard! Come deal with this paperwork. He's clear." Spencer noted the use of the last name even in relatively casual circumstances. He also wondered what McKay was reporting him clear of, since he clearly hadn't asked Teyla or looked closely at any readings on his handheld device.

Sheppard and Ronon stepped out from either side of the nearest doorway. Sheppard walked through first, picking up the paperwork even as he said, "Still not your minion." The tone was loaded with domestic intimacy and barely concealed flirtation. It practically screamed that Sheppard was in the closet but ready to come out for McKay. Unfortunately, McKay wasn't paying him any attention.

"Remember, if we get caught, you are deaf," McKay said to Teyla, "and you don't speak English," he said to Ronon.

Ronon grunted.

Teyla didn't reply, but did close the top flap on Spencer's bag.

Sheppard took the nondisclosure paperwork to the adjoining room, which seemed to be an office, and said without turning. "Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable."

Having already surveyed the small Victorian living room with its sky blue sofa and two floral armchairs, Spencer took the chair that kept his back to a wall and gave him a view of the front door as well as those to the office and kitchen.

"Would you like some tea or coffee?" Teyla asked formally.

"Coffee, please," Spencer forced his hands still and tried not to sound nervous. Coffee wouldn't help with that, and it was already six local time. But Spencer had been staying up later anyway, because Census work never started before ten in the morning, and coffee had long been a comfort beverage for him.

"Me too, and those chocolate almond cookies," McKay added as he plopped onto the end of the sofa nearest to Spencer's seat.

Teyla raised an eyebrow even higher than she had upon Spencer's arrival but said nothing.

Ronon stood by the door to the kitchen but faced Spencer, looking him over openly. There was no doubt in Spencer's mind that the larger man was armed, with at least a couple of knives if not more. But Spencer didn't feel threatened. He trusted that Ronon would keep himself and his housemates safe. So long as Spencer avoided acting like a threat, he might even be included in that protection.

"Records show you're smart, IQ almost as high as mine," McKay began, "So you've probably figured out that the blue glow over the door indicates something special about you. I rigged it to glow red if anything or anyone with SARS-CoV-2 came through, but I used Ancient crystals. Ancient tech gets obnoxious around strong natural genetic carriers for what we call ATA or Ancient Technology Activation."

"What do you mean by ancient in this case?"

"Aliens who seeded life across the Milky Way Galaxy and some others," McKay answered quickly.

"Wait."

McKay smirked, clearly amused to drop such a bomb and see if Spencer would freak out. But given the scientist's Dalek socks and galaxy face mask as well as military connections that produced a seventy-page nondisclosure agreement based on a very brief phone call, Spencer had evaluated a number of possibilities before walking into this living room. Actual aliens had not been high on his list, but his profiles for Ronon and Teyla would make more sense if there were alien cultures involved.

Another concern almost immediately overwhelmed Spencer's awe at the revelation. "You have an instant test for a virus that threatens the whole world, and you're keeping it above your own front door? Please tell me they've at least been distributed covertly to hospitals or senior care facilities."

Scowling at Teyla as she came in carrying a tray of coffee with cookies and fixings, McKay said, "He went there even faster than you predicted." Turning back to Spencer, McKay said, "Give me a moment while you prepare your coffee." As the scientist picked up his own black coffee, he motioned to the milk and sugar on the tray, and Spencer wondered if whatever report they had on him included how he took his coffee.

As he was stirring in multiple spoonfuls of sugar and some milk, McKay set the handheld device that was almost certainly not a game on the coffee table between them, with a blinking solid red screen facing up. As Teyla returned with her own cup of tea and Ronon shifted forward just slightly to listen, McKay whispered, "There are things we shouldn't talk about even here. Meet Ronon outside Beautiful Bodies Spa in West Portal at 9 PM. We're going to pretend it's a hookup. Understand?"

With a nod, Spencer picked up his coffee and took a sip. McKay tapped the red screen, and the small device displayed an innocuous line graph of a classic bell curve.

Setting his coffee on the tray with a loud clink, McKay said conversationally, "Look, the pandemic is a problem and we're doing what we can. What you don't know is how close the whole planet came to being destroyed by aliens just a few months ago. I've been working day and night to adapt a city shield we found on an Ancient city-ship called Atlantis so it can be loaded into the remains of a control chair and parts from an Ancient outpost we found on Earth. There may be some spaceships from this galaxy and others involved, but you don't need to worry about the details. The blue glow you triggered doesn't happen for just anyone with the ATA gene. Until now it had only reacted to Earth's two strongest gene carriers, Sheppard and O'Neill. And we need strong natural gene carriers in three places at once to transfer the shield protocols that might save Earth from future alien invasions. Could you put your other concerns on hold while we see if you can fill that third seat?"

Spencer looked around the room, re-evaluating the three people asking him to work with them overtly and covertly. It didn't escape his notice that Sheppard hadn't returned, even though he was at least as important as Spencer to the official mission. Was he maintaining plausible deniability about whatever Spencer was supposed to discuss with Ronon at nine, or were the other three keeping him out of the loop because he was more loyal to the US military than to them? "I will need more information, of course. But as a federal agent, I'm sworn to protect people here. If I can do something to make the whole planet safer, even better."

#

When Spencer returned to his rented basement room after an hour of tests to show his ATA expression was strong enough for the official mission, the first thing he did was look up Beautiful Bodies Spa. To his relief, it looked like a respectable local business that before the pandemic had offered various classes in addition to spa services. Now they were offering more and more services outside in tents with "optional privacy flaps" and tonight offered one of the first massage classes to re-open. Couples would be assigned their own private tents with massage tables and supplies already set up and fully sanitized. Then they would watch a registered massage therapist demonstrate techniques on a live video feed over their phones or other devices. Students only needed to turn on their own cameras or microphones if they wanted feedback from the instructor.

Spencer could imagine how useful the class might be for someone who seriously needed massage therapy and was worried about visiting a regular provider. He could also imagine a lot of people viewing the private tents as an ideal place for a date with someone they met online and didn't want in their house. Him hooking up with Ronon in such a setting didn't seem like a cover story many people would believe, but he still didn't know what Garcia thought he had been doing at six. With that thought in mind he checked in to say he was home safe and ask how late she was likely to be up, since he was going out again to meet someone at nine California time.

Her reply was almost immediate: "Please! Yes! Let me live vicariously through your California awakening! Just remember to tell me <and send pics!> if you're staying the night!"

#

When Spencer reached the edge of the long narrow parking area beside Beautiful Bodies Spa, he spotted a young employee with a clipboard checking people in and directing them along two rows of tents. The unoccupied tents had their cloth walls fully drawn back on three sides. Those already claimed ranged from fully open to completely closed up.

Then a muscular brown arm emerged from a mostly walled up tent in the back corner. Ronon stepped out, his feet bare. He wore only tight brown leather pants and an open leather vest with no shirt underneath. His chest hair and tattoos were proudly on display, and even knowing it was just for show, Spencer's mouth went dry and he had to swallow hard. It would be easy to mistake Ronon for a hot San Francisco leatherman rather than a visitor from another galaxy. He gave Spencer a come-hither wave that caused the guy with the clipboard to look Spencer over head to toe, just to see what sort of person Ronon was waiting for. Spencer was glad he'd changed into his closest approximation of date clothes: black jeans and a slightly shiny purple button down with a couple buttons undone.

As he reached the tent, Ronon's eyes traced down his body much more slowly than the spa employee had done. Spencer felt his face and neck warm even though Ronon's interest was probably all an act.

He'd barely stepped inside the tent when Ronon closed the final curtain wall behind him. The enclosed area was mostly empty but for the massage table with its crisp white sheets and a stand with trial size massage oils, a couple of folded white towels, and a plastic bracket that supported a slick black tablet, possibly the one Sheppard had used to photograph his census badge just a few hours before. On the wall closest to the head of the massage table, a white plastic light sconce pointed upward, reflecting off the white tent roof above a row of hooks for clothing where Ronon had hung a tan leather coat with stiff brown accents at the shoulders that stuck out almost like armor. The hooks held the coat wide and full above a pair of large leather boots situated directly beneath, almost as if a person were standing inside the coat. By the time Spencer's brain finished that thought, he realized the costume Ronon had no doubt walked in here wearing had been chosen specifically to hide someone. And it was currently filled.

Ronon caught his eyes, and tilted his head away as he removed his face mask. "Closed everything up. Thought you might be shy. Take off what you want for a massage."

Playing along, Spencer removed his shoes, socks, face mask, and watch. He looked to Ronon for any further hint of what might be expected and was distracted by flexing pecs and nipples barely covered by the loose vest. The man was jaw-droppingly gorgeous.

When Ronon smiled softly and eyed the vee of Spencer's collar, Spencer shyly unfastened the buttons one by one, very aware his own slim frame and how his hard-earned muscles were mere ripples compared to Ronon's chest. But even without an audience to deceive, Ronon's eyes widened in seeming appreciation at the sight. Rather than feeling chilled when he hung his shirt on a hook beside Ronon's coat, Spencer felt overheated with the way Ronon was watching him and the knowledge that someone, probably McKay given the proportions, was with them, if not watching directly.

Then the "wait for meeting" message on the tablet was replaced by the massage therapist himself and his partner. They started with how to adjust the face rest on the massage table, and Ronon motioned for Spencer to lie down on his stomach.

They were really doing this.

Spencer kept his pants on and tried to position his nose so he could breathe easily through the hole in the face rest. Ronon followed one part of the instructor's advice and tried lowering it a bit, which made Spencer much more comfortable. He burrowed his face into the headrest.

That's when he saw a flash of red screen as a hand snaked out from the coat hanging directly in front of his head. "We can talk now," McKay whispered. "Our intel on you mentioned Penelope Garcia."

Spencer tensed, worried that his safety line was compromised and he might have inadvertently dragged Penelope into danger.

When a large hand settled at the center of his back, Spencer felt trapped. He was going to be abducted or extorted. Then he registered the voice of the massage therapist coming from the tablet and instructing students to maintain some form of physical contact with the person they were massaging whenever possible. That voice went on to detail the massage oils provided for their class.

Ronon uncapped one that smelled like almonds and was supposed to be relaxing.

Meanwhile, McKay was saying, "…don't know how much of Penelope's past you're aware of, but before the FBI got to her, she was known as 'The Black Queen.' As far as we can tell, she's stayed on the side of light since then and is working with a powerful network of NGOs now. Do you trust her?"

"Absolutely," Spencer said, wanting to see where this line of discussion was headed, with McKay hiding in a coat while using alien tech to assure privacy in an outdoor tent during a massage class.

"Do you have a secure way to communicate with her?"

"Possibly. Why?" Spencer asked just before Ronon's second hand smoothed massage oil along his spine. It was slick and wet and incredibly distracting. Spencer had never experienced an actual massage with massage oil. Physical therapy and a couple of casual shoulder rubs had not prepared him for warm, callused hands sliding smoothly across the rarely touched skin of his back. Given his move to San Francisco amidst the pandemic, Spencer couldn't actually remember the last time anyone touched him. Still, he needed to listen and remember whatever McKay was telling him.

"One of my minions, Miko, was furious when politicians and bureaucrats blocked her plans to distribute a stripped-down version of the virus detector over our door." McKay sighed and shifted around within the hanging coat until Spencer could no longer see the red light, but he trusted it was still there. "I don't think her version would react to ATA gene expression like yours and John's. She insisted it wouldn't be identifiable as Ancient tech and had it set up with different colors of LEDs for different viruses, but it might still need refinements. Anyway, if you want to help us move ahead with that, she needs contacts worldwide to get it distributed widely before any one person or government can try to lock it down or charge a fortune for it."

Spencer had started to relax. He knew he carried a lot of tension in his back, even when his physical work involved nothing more strenuous than walking up and down a few hills and flights of stairs. But Ronon seemed to be finding every knot, even the tangle of knots from carrying a messenger bag on his right shoulder all day. While he'd been listening to McKay, it was all Spencer could do not to sigh in pleasure as Ronon rubbed large soothing circles before digging down into large muscles.

When the analyst realized McKay expected a reply, he rolled back the last sentence in his mind and said, "You think Penelope has the contacts you need."

"Not just for her contacts." McKay sounded offended, although Spencer didn't understand why. He wasn't sure McKay needed a reason. It might be his default state. "Miko hasn't been on Earth for years either. She wants to hand the plans over to someone with the technical and social savvy to orchestrate fair distribution. Do you think Penelope could and would do that?"

There was no doubt in Spencer's mind that Penelope would want to do as much good as possible in the current situation. He didn't know her exact position with regards to shadier web communications and working around governments in ways that might go a bit beyond the law. "Will this get her arrested? Charged with sedition or treason? I can't commit Penelope to anything that might put her in danger."

Ronon dug his thumbs hard under Spencer's shoulder blades in a move that kind of hurt but mostly felt like a reward. Spencer bit back a groan.

"We're not asking you to commit on her behalf. If you can send Penelope a message with half of a two-part passcode and let her know Miko is a friendly she should talk to, the two of them can take it from there."

Spencer tried to think rationally. It was surprisingly hard as his body responded to Ronon's ministrations almost against his will. His back was warm and relaxed and his skin sparked with pleasure at every touch as Ronon kneaded his shoulders.

Spencer's voice was a little rough when he said, "Okay, tell me the code. Penelope wouldn't want me to take the decision away from her, but I will track you down and find a way to hurt you if anyone uses her as a scapegoat in this."

"Yeah, yeah," McKay muttered. "You wouldn't be the only one." McKay told him the passcode and contact info twice then made Spencer repeat it back.

After that, there was a long silence during which Ronon added another squirt of oil to his hands and switched sides. As he wrapped his hands around Spencer's upper arm and started stroking in a very suggestive way. Spencer had to ask, "Who's idea was this massage class set up anyway?"

"Mine," McKay answered immediately but sounded a bit higher-pitched than before.

"And what had you looking for hookup options that might evade whatever surveillance you're worried about at your place before I even asked about this project?"

There were several plausible excuses McKay could have given, but he stuttered and said defensively, "I don't see how that's any of your business. As a genius, I like to be prepared and explore my options."

"Listen, genius," Spencer said, more than a little distracted by his lower body's reactions to Ronon working his hands and fingers, stretching out the tendons in his palms in a blissful way. "I've known you one day and it's obvious you're interested in Sheppard and he's interested in you. If that's old news and you've already talked it through and decided not to pursue anything, that's fine. But I think you considered bringing him here, maybe by convincing him you wanted to take a massage class and needed someone to practice on?" Spencer could hear more than see how Rodney fidgeted in his hiding place, so he continued, "You don't need a clever plan or to overthink what you want with someone who already knows and likes you. Just go tell him. I'll take care of getting your message to Penelope."

After five seconds of silence, Rodney said, "Right well, I'll just be going." He stepped out of Ronon's boots, revealing an all-black ensemble right down to the shoes. "You coming, Ronon?"

"Nah, want to finish the class."

McKay's face peeked out of the coat for the first time. "Seriously?"

Ronon must have scowled or barred his teeth, because Rodney slipped out of the coat and then through the back corner of the tent without another word.

"Relax," Ronon said, squirting some more oil and moving around to Spencer's other arm. "Teyla will make sure he gets home safe." After a long pause, he added, "Give them some privacy if needed. Finally."

"So you agree with my analysis but never said anything?" Spencer asked.

"Not my place. Different here. Now." With that lack of explanation, Ronon slid his hands along Spencer's arms and said, "Glad he found this class."

As Spencer's muscles and mind melted beneath Ronon's hands, he didn't think Ronon was appreciating the class for its strategic usefulness to McKay. But all he managed to say was, "Mmmmm."

#

By the time class ended and Spencer had cleaned off most of the oil and regained his shirt and shoes, he had no idea what to say.

He'd never been on a date like this. Ronon had stayed after McKay left. Now Spencer felt totally relaxed but also a bit buzzed. His skin was wide awake while his brain seemed half asleep.

"Let me walk you home." It didn't sound like a question. Ronon opened one wall of the tent and threw the long leather coat McKay had previously hidden in over his arm.

"You don't need to," Spencer said.

Ronon grunted and took Spencer's hand, leading him out through the tent covered parking lot. The guy with the clipboard gave them a wink as they left. Spencer thought if they hadn't left together, that guy would probably imagine they'd had sex in the tent and were going separate ways after a casual hookup. Walking away hand in hand suggested they were a couple, or at least a longer one night stand.

"You already know where I'm staying?"

"Told it was within walking distance. Figured you would lead." Ronon said it in a dry tone, but Spencer didn't think he'd have added the second sentence if he wasn't aware of the double meaning.

"Your English and…local knowledge, is surprisingly good."

"Thanks."

As Spencer did in fact lead the way downhill and around a corner, he thought he might be expected to carry the conversation as well, which was tricky when he didn't know what they could say out loud in public or what Ronon wanted from him tonight. But Ronon saved him by asking, "Could you tell me more about the census? How did it start and how is it used?"

Spencer took a deep breath and dived right in. "The US Constitution requires a census every ten years. The first took place in 1790, so 230 years ago, with men on horses riding out to record the name of the head of each household and how many other men, women, children, and enslaved people lived there. The numbers were used to determine representation in our government, in what we call the House of Representatives. Over time, categories shifted, names and full information were collected regardless of race or sex, people began to self-identify for those categories, and more social programs came to rely on the data. Questions changed and mostly expanded along with the population, so that more information was being collected. By 1890, the census required technological advances in tabulating machines and punch cards that would eventually lead to a company called IBM and some of our earliest computers. In 1902, the US Census Bureau was created to make the whole process more professional, efficient, and mathematically accurate. A Census Bureau mathematician in the 1960s named James Corbett introduced the vector paradigm that led to Dual Independent Map Encoding, also called DIME, which became a key component for the online mapping and global positioning that I rely on for both my work with the BAU and the census. Most people take these technological developments for granted in their cell phones. But oddly enough, this is the first census where the door-to-door interview data is all collected on cell phones and everyone is encouraged to fill in their own questionnaire online. That's probably more than you wanted to know." Spencer wrung his fingers together self-consciously. He was used to people cutting him off before he could ramble for so long.

"Wouldn't ask if I didn't want to know." Ronon shrugged as if that was obvious and he appreciated every sentence. "But don't people worry about their enemies using the information against them?"

"Enemies like other countries? I'm pretty sure there are easier ways to get the sort of information they need. All the personally identifiable data collected by the census is protected for 72 years. Even for my minor role, I had to be sworn in with a lifetime oath and could face five years in jail and/or fines up to $250,000. But there are people who don't trust presidents, immigration officials, or local law enforcement to stay away from their protected individual data. Even our very first president, Washington, worried the census count came out low because people thought tax collectors might be given the information. So we do the best we can with various laws, partitions between different government departments, and all sorts of data security. We have to or we'd undermine democracy, representation in congress, and all sorts of government funding and planning."

Ronon nodded thoughtfully but said, "Don't need it for that where I come from."

Spencer pondered how much he could ask on the sparsely populated streets of his residential San Francisco neighborhood at night but decided not to follow up about democracies or governments on other planets, although he was dying to know. Instead he said, "You seem to think a census could be useful for something else."

Ronon grunted and his jaw tensed. Spencer didn't know what nerve he'd struck until Ronon said, "Most of my people were killed by…enemies. If there had been a census before—"

When Ronon didn't speak again for several blocks, Spencer said, "I can't imagine how that is for you. But I appreciate numbers. I know I would want a count to show who was lost, to save some knowledge of them for future generations. Then maybe a later census would find refugees or relatives and offer them a way to reconnect or trace their heritage."

"Yes," Ronon said. "Does the device you put our names in make a list with names and places, or is there more needed?"

"The way we do it now, there are whole buildings full of people and computers merging, checking, and securing the data until only numbers referring to groups are released. But it doesn't have to be that way. Data from 1940 and before, which isn't confidential anymore, is available through an archive that everyone can access online. People here use it to trace their genealogy and learn more about lost relatives. You could make a new system with other privacy and access rights to fit a different place and people."

They turned down the last street before Spencer's temporary home. He didn't doubt Ronon's housemates and their military contacts could find his current address if they hadn't already. It was in his file with the BAU. Still, as relaxed and comfortable as the massage had left him, Spencer wasn't sure about showing a near stranger to his door. "I'm just down this way," he said with a vague wave.

"Do you want sex?" Ronon asked. His tone was flat again, but Spencer had already determined that was a defense meant to protect Ronon's own emotions, not to intentionally deceive Spencer.

The stirrings Spencer had felt earlier, when they first met and part way through the massage, had cooled. Spencer appreciated being able to make a somewhat rational decision but still felt out of his depth in this social interaction.

Looking up, Spencer met Ronon's eyes, and they didn't shy away from his. "Is that what you really want? Will it upset your housemates or make working together difficult later?"

Ronon shrugged. "I can let them know. No choice but people we work with usually. No choices at all lately."

Feeling a little cold inside at the reasoning but caught by Ronon's direct gaze, Spencer tried again. "You didn't say what you actually want."

In an instant Ronon pulled Spencer close, and Spencer could feel the other man's erection through their clothes. "I want. Do you?"

Spencer wanted, but he couldn't help saying, "I'm not very good at this."

"Sex?"

Spencer shrugged. "More the stuff that goes with it."

"Me neither." Ronon huffed. "You could ask my last two girlfriends."

A whole new worry occurred to Spencer. "Have you been with a guy before?"

"Not in a while, but I brought this." Ronon pulled one of the sample size massage oils from the pocket of the coat he carried.

Spencer smiled, "I have lube that will work better, but I'm not sure I'm ready for that tonight."

"You can fuck me. Or other stuff. Whatever." Ronon wasn't grinding into him, but he wasn't pulling back either. The hold could have felt confining, but instead Spencer shaped himself against the larger man, wanting skin to skin contact even more than during the massage.

"Come on," Spencer led Ronon the rest of the way to his place.

At the door to his basement room Ronon said, "Give me a minute. I need to check in with Teyla."

Spencer's gaze flashed to the road behind them, wondering if Teyla had been physically followed without him noticing. But he had his own check in to see to and an additional message to send. He nodded and went inside to text Penelope first what she wanted to know: "I'm home, and I brought a friend." He could have broken Penelope's brain by including a winking face, but he refused to give into peer pressure on emojis.

Penelope responded with a whole string of emoticons, but then included in words: "OMG! Stop texting me and have fun with your friend."

"I have a message from another friend I want to pass on first." Spencer included the passcode and Miko's name, as well as the caveat that it was just an introduction and Penelope should take care of herself in deciding how to proceed. If he'd put a winking face after that, any outsider reading it would probably think he was matchmaking.

Penelope wrote back, "Got it, Curious Professor. Now go take care of yourself and your friend."

#

When Ronon stepped inside, he made the whole room look small. It wasn't just that the Satedan was a physically large man. Having moved in the midst of a pandemic, Spencer had never had anyone over before. While he was lucky to be able to find and afford a studio apartment with its own kitchenette, compact washer/drier, and private bath in San Francisco for his sabbatical, his IKEA futon and dresser looked decidedly small and non-descript with a leather-clad, tattooed alien standing beside them. The leather coat and boots he'd left by the door looked similarly out of place.

"The bathroom is over there. Would you like something to drink?" Spencer offered, hating how nervous he sounded in his own space.

"Water," Ronon said as he stepped away toward the bathroom.

While his guest took some time to freshen up, Spencer filled two glasses. He checked for supplies and that the sheets on his bed were reasonably clean and then put away his shoes and watch. The memory of how Ronon had touched him with his shirt off earlier was enough to make Spencer's cock twitch even as he felt the rest of his body tensing with nerves.

When Ronon emerged, he went straight to the counter where the water sat and drank a whole glass. Then he let out a sigh and moved toward Spencer, "Nervous?"

"I don't usually do this."

Ronon raised an eyebrow. Then he reached out for Spencer's hand and pulled him close again. "Don't have to do anything you don't want. Satedans believed in full and enthusiastic consent without having special trainings about it."

"They cover that in trainings on your city-ship?"

"Right away, but it took me two years to figure out Earth weirdness around gay sex."

"Partly that's an American military holdover from policies like 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' and dishonorable discharges—"

"I know," Ronon said but cupped Spencer's face in his hand to soften the interruption. "I liked what you said to McKay earlier. Teyla and I didn't feel comfortable pushing them, but it's been painful to watch ever since Rodney broke off his last relationship. As soon as we were stuck on Earth."

"Are you stuck here?" Spencer asked, reaching out to rest his hands on Ronon's hips.

Ronon raised one eyebrow and said, "We'll see." Then he started unbuttoning Spencer's purple shirt.

The simple intimacy made Spencer's breath catch, and he ran his hands up the bare skin under Ronon's vest. The space between each rib was warm and formed natural channels for his fingers to trace. "I don't know much about massage, but I'd like to spend some time touching you."

After a breathy grunt, Ronon said, "Sounds good. Less clothes."

As Ronon peeled off Spencer's shirt, Spencer easily removed the open vest. The leather pants turned out to be trickier, fastened with laces unlike anything Spencer had seen. But the scent of leather and Ronon's bare and half hard cock underneath had Spencer squirming in his own pants until Ronon pulled them down.

They both ended up naked on Spencer's futon, with Spencer sitting astride Ronon's hips and lightly tracing every muscle and scar. Part of him wanted to ask questions when he traced the triangles tattooed on Ronon's arms or the lines and dots at his neck, but he focused on touch instead.

Ronon's skin was surprisingly soft given the hard muscles underneath. He hummed and sighed to express what he liked, which surprised Spencer after the man's flat tone when asking about sex. It helped to have feedback, and Spencer had never been with someone so open in their responses. He was surprised when Ronon shivered as he traced the insides of his arms. Then Spencer remembered Ronon clasping his arms in a suggestive way during the massage and tried doing the same, only lightly, because he wasn't using massage oil.

Ronon groaned and shifted beneath him. Spencer repeated the motion several times before tracing down to Ronon's pecs, which pushed up into his touch. But Spencer kept it light and teasing, stroking up and down beside Ronon's nipples without quite touching. His motions fell in time with Ronon's breathing. But the breathing sped up, and Ronon hips began to rock, just slightly, beneath Spencer. That slight extra pressure had Spencer fully hard in minutes, but he waited until Ronon was nearly panting to even brush a nipple.

"Yes," Ronon bucked up under him, raising both hips and chest. "We could stay like this or you could fuck me. But don't tease too much longer."

Spencer had only been on top with a man once before, and the circumstances had been complicated. But Spencer wanted it now, and Ronon seemed more than willing.

Reaching into the drawer nearest his bed for a condom and lube he asked, "Do you have a preferred position?"

Ronon bent his knees until his feet were flat on the bed near his ass, demonstrating his flexibility and showing off the muscles in his thighs. Spencer took a moment to lightly stroke those thighs, down to just beside Ronon's cock and then back up.

"You like to tease." Ronon's tone was only a little flat as he said it.

"I like to touch. I especially like touching you."

Ronon smiled at that. He had a really nice smile. Spencer grabbed a pillow and maneuvered it to prop Ronon's ass up higher. Then he couldn't resist swiping his tongue from Ronon's balls to the tip of his flushed and full cock.

Ronon moaned loudly, and Spencer slicked up a finger to circle his hole as he repeated the lick up his cock. Ronon clenched and then relaxed to let the fingertip in, and Spencer was amazed at how loud and expressive Ronon grew as the fingering and licking continued. There was no doubt when he found Ronon's prostate. The big man practically screamed. Then he panted, "Do that too much and I'll come before you're in me."

So Spencer eased off and focused on stretching while only eliciting modest moans from his partner. Still, Ronon was panting and moaning so consistently he was practically humming a melody by the time Spencer lined up his cock and pushed inside.

The warmth and intensity were greater than Spencer remembered. He paused with just the crown inside and closed his eyes to regain control.

"You too," Ronon said, and then, "Good."

Spencer had no idea what to say to that, so he focused on pushing in steadily when he could. Ronon's body seemed to grasp and almost pull him in as the man panted out small moans and breathy noises.

When Spencer was all the way in and tried to wait to give his partner time to adjust, Ronon just said, "Move." So Spencer did.

He stroked in and out slowly until Ronon took back some control and started to press back onto him, ramping up the pace. The noises Ronon made grew raspy and higher pitched. His entire torso glimmered with a sheen of sweat. His cock was huge and darkly flushed, dripping precome onto tight abs.

Spencer tried to keep a steady rhythm to match how Ronon shifted against him. The way Ronon's muscles pulled and pressed him from inside was far too good to last, but Spencer held on tight, knowing this might be his only chance. It felt so good, physically, but also to see Ronon pressing so eagerly beneath him. Both of them increasingly desperate to come but also wanting the pleasure to last. There was an intimacy to sharing such want that Spencer had rarely experienced before.

Finally, when he knew he couldn't hold off much longer, Spencer wrapped a hand around Ronon's gorgeous, leaking cock. Ronon started to thrash and keen. Then he was coming. Spencer tried to stroke him through it, but the way he pulsed around Spencer's cock was too good. They were both coming. Ronon was shouting. Spencer was surprised to feel his own dry throat shouting hoarsely as well.

He barely had the energy to strip off the condom and clean them both up with some tissues. He rested a hand on Ronon's ribs, and they both fell asleep almost instantly.

#

Spencer woke to find himself the little spoon with Ronon kissing his neck, soft lips and facial hair like he'd never known before. Faint light filtered through the curtains from the narrow high windows to his basement room. A glance at the clock said it was almost eight. It seemed they'd never made it under the covers the night before, but Ronon's skin was warm against his. Miles of skin as they were both still naked. Only then did Spencer realize they were both sporting morning erections. Ronon's settled almost demurely against Spencer's ass.

"You up for more?" Ronon asked.

"Evidently." He rolled his hips against Ronon then clamored down the bed to lick Ronon's cock like a popsicle.

The sound Ronon made this morning was low and rumbling. He didn't complain about Spencer teasing, so the analyst took his time. He experimented with long licks and short, tracing the vein underneath, dipping his tongue in around the foreskin, and then circling the crown. He licked and then sucked in one ball while feathering his fingers along Ronon's thigh. That was surprisingly successful, so he tried the other side.

He had Ronon gasping and moaning again, and then suddenly Spencer was on his back. Ronon's tongue on his cock, and then Ronon's whole mouth enveloping him. He sucked fast and sloppy and had Spencer fully hard in minutes. Then he raised his head to ask, "69 or frottage?"

Being asked so directly by his alien one-night stand caused Spencer to laugh despite his arousal.

Ronon raised both eyebrows and then shifted to pull Spencer into his lap, cock to cock. He'd never been moved around or manhandled so easily before, but Ronon didn't hurt him in the process. It came across as honest desire, and like Ronon's unbridled noises during sex, turned out to be a huge turn on for Spencer. He grabbed the lube from where he'd left it beside the bed the night before and said, "You seem to know what you want."

"For sex."

Spencer barely warmed the lube in his hand before using it to stroke both their cocks together.

When Ronon grunted and thrust against him Spencer arched back and saw stars behind his eyelids. He was surprised when Ronon added, "First time in months I've felt useful for anything."

That was an intimate confession on a whole other level, but Spencer felt honored rather than uncomfortable. He let his hand drift slowly along their cocks as he said, "I guess you're sort of stuck in San Francisco without even tourist stuff to do, but I'm sure your team is glad you're with them."

Ronon shifted closer and rested their temples together as he flexed his hips pleasantly. "We train some, and we've walked a lot. But Teyla and Sheppard are all about networking and persuading. With McKay it's more like arguing, but with ideas and inventions as bargaining chips. I'm used to fighting or at least training more than my teammates. Any way I could help with the census?"

Even Spencer was surprised to be talking about the census during sex. He'd known people who used sex to escape difficult conversations or who could only open up emotionally during sex, but Ronon defied his expectations yet again with this conversation. Spencer gave them both a squeeze and honestly wished he could bring Ronon along for at least a day on the job. "There are a lot of rules with the census to protect people's privacy and data security. They aren't even taking employment applications anymore. But there are voter registration drives, clean-up projects, demonstrations, and efforts to help the homeless or others in need. Or I was thinking, you might look into oral history projects. They collect more detailed, personal accounts than the census, but there's still an effort to verify and store each interview with accurate historical context and indexing for later generations. That might fit well with what you want to offer in your own galaxy."

"Sounds good." Ronon wrapped his hand around Spencer's to work both of their cocks in a firmer, more steady rhythm. "Could I visit you again?"

Spencer felt his brain slowing down, and managed to say, "Definitely, but could we wait to talk more after?"

With a dirty chuckle Ronon pressed in to kiss Spencer. His tongue invaded Spencer's mouth, swept along his tongue and behind his teeth, then thrust greedily. Ronon was humming as he pulled away, and Spencer realized that was their first kiss.

Then the larger man shifted his arms to support Spencer at a better angle, leaning back so that the full lengths of their cocks were exposed and pressed together. By that point Ronon was fully controlling the glide of their hands, up and down in long sure strokes that made Spencer's breath hitch. It took only a couple flicks of Ronon's thumb just under Spencer's crown to have him on edge. But then Ronon switched to a gentler, twisting motion, and Spencer was surprised to hear himself whine in disappointment.

"Thought you liked teasing," Ronon said. "Don't worry, I'll make it good for you."

It didn't take long for Ronon to have them both groaning and twitching until they came together all over their hands. Ronon pulled Spencer in to lean against his shoulder as they caught their breath.

"You want to shower first?" Ronon asked a while later.

"Sounds good." What Spencer really wanted was to climb back in bed and act like irresponsible teenagers all day. "Then I'll make breakfast while you shower. "

#

Two nights later, Ronon showed up at his door with a new prototype in hand, or actually, in a little brown lunch bag. Ronon offering it almost daintily was quite the image, and Spencer was glad for any excuse that brought Ronon back to visit.

"Can you stay for dinner? I'm making pasta with lemon cream sauce, spinach, and peas."

"You cook?" Ronon's eyes went wide, and Spencer read outsized surprise but none of the usual judgments or stereotypes. The man was from an alien culture that Spencer knew little about, so he tried to avoid biased assumptions.

"That's pretty much the entire recipe, other than a few spices." Spencer walked back to the kitchen, restarted the burner he'd turned off, and stirred along the bottom of the pan. "You'll have to try it and see what you think."

"I eat a lot." The way Ronon turned one hand up suggested it was a practical warning and a chance for Spencer to withdraw the invitation.

The honesty in such a simple negotiation made Spencer want to keep the conversation going through dinner. "I made extra thinking I'd throw any leftovers in the refrigerator." Spencer didn't say he had little else available without going shopping.

"Okay. I'll put this over your door."

The new version of the virus detector was a plastic black box with a row of LEDs down the front and metal rods with stoppers on the ends sticking out from the two shorter sides. Ronon adjusted the rods to brace between the doorframe and the ceiling as Spencer served up dinner.

When Spencer moved to sit down, Ronon said, "Step under it."

Nothing happened, and Spencer opened the door to quickly step out and back in. There was no blue glow or anything else.

"Good," Ronon said, before washing his hands in the kitchen.

Spencer moved to sit down again. "I take it this one is meant not to detect genetics like mine, but how do we know it's working at all?"

"There's a test button on the side that makes all the lights flash at once. I tested." Ronon sat down across from him. "Any other time, red means the pandemic virus. Other lights mean other viruses."

"And you're leaving this here rather than a hospital because?"

"Keeping the tech and everything secret, but you already know." Ronon gave him a hard look that strongly implied the other scheme Spencer had been told about in the massage tent was still moving forward but not to be mentioned. "McKay wanted this test and said you had to have one for me to come here." The half-lidded look Ronon gave him as he started to eat said Ronon had other reasons from coming to see Spencer.

He plowed through a full plate of pasta in under a minute without another word.

Spencer got up and brought the pot of pasta over to the table to make extra servings more readily available. "You learn to eat like that from our military or before you met them?"

"Large family. One military. Another. Seven years alone, fighting for my life and food. My table manners actually improved on Atlantis." As Ronon spoke, he served himself another full plate of pasta.

"You always think of yourself as a fighter?"

"Yes. Where I come from, all kids learn to fight. In case they can't hide. Joining our military meant preparing an organized defense. Failed anyway." Despite the neutral tone in his speech and the way he kept eating throughout, Spencer could see anger in the set of Ronon's jaw and hear grief in the way his words slowed down. It suggested a lot about Ronon's past but seemed like too much to ask over dinner.

"And the rest of your family?"

"All dead. Wraith wiped out Sateda."

"Wraith?"

"They eat us."

Spencer, who had eaten with pictures of dismembered corpses visible on the table during work with the BAU, set down his fork. "Were those the aliens attacking Earth?"

"This time," Ronon answered, still eating.

"You want people counted in a census in case Wraith come and wipe out an entire population."

Ronon nodded, then took a long drink of water. "Help locate refugees or relatives on other planets, too."

The idea of coordinating a census across planets in a war zone where one side ate the other seemed like too much to ask. And it didn't seem like nearly enough to remember a people. "Did you follow up on oral history projects at all?"

"Found a good one. Here in San Francisco. Teyla and I signed up as volunteers to prepare and bring food to elders, too. Thanks."

"You don't need to thank me for babbling out a few ideas."

Ronon placed both hands flat on the table. His plate was empty as Spencer scraped up the last traces of his own meal. There weren't any leftovers after all. "Why did you take vacation to help with the census?"

"The traditional purpose of a sabbatical is to step away from work one does all the time, for a significant period of time, to reflect or develop oneself as a person." Spencer rested his forearms on the edge of the table and leaned in toward Ronon's attentive gaze. "I've spent years chasing serial killers and others humans who mostly don’t eat people, but they waste innocent lives, and are often psychologically incapable of feeling remorse. I'm good at that work and plan to go back to it, but I needed a chance to reconnect with a broader range of people. Not everyone I approach for the census is happy to see me. I've had a few doors slammed in my face, but honestly, fewer than I expected. With the pandemic isolating people and politics disenfranchising them, I've encountered a lot of good people who want to be counted, make sure everyone is represented, and thank me for helping in what many see as a thankless job." Spencer couldn't help a wry laugh at that. "For me it’s the least thankless work I've ever done, although that's not why I set out to do it."

Ronon nodded. "You wanted to know the people you protect. Know them in ways you couldn't while hunting criminals."

"Yes." It was like standing in a bright light and having Ronon see a part of him even his BAU team failed to see.

"When I packed food for elders. When I massaged knots out of your back. I needed that. To do something for others. It felt good to be more than a fighter. And a fighter with nothing I can fight on this planet."

Spencer nodded. He wanted to listen to Ronon the way Ronon had listened to him. But Ronon seemed to have run out of words already. The more Spencer sat watching him from across the table, the more he remembered the other man's touch. The massage, holding hands, and then sex and cuddling had been more touch than he usually had in a year. He'd been starving for it, and already he felt like he was starving again. "I don't have to work tomorrow," he blurted out.

"That an invitation?" Ronon asked, leaning closer to the table and to Spencer.

Holding onto the honesty he'd appreciated so much from Ronon, Spencer said, "Yes. You could top if you want, since I don't have to walk so much tomorrow."

Ronon chuckled low in his throat. "You want me inside you? Want my touch so much you won't mind being sore and worn out the day after?" Ronon came around the table and took both of Spencer's hands. Then he pulled him up from his chair and said, "I want to touch you all night. Make you come at least twice. That all right?"

Spencer shuddered and tried to stop the keening sound welling up in his throat.

Ronon raised one hand to cup his face, "You are perfect." Then he was kissing Spencer and unbuttoning his shirt all at once. Spencer slid his hands up under the tight black shirt Ronon wore, needing to feel as much skin as possible.

As soon as Ronon had Spencer's shirt off, he pulled his own over his head. Then they were chest to chest, both running their hands greedily over the other's back and sides. Never before had Spencer felt so desperate to touch and be touched. To keep someone close for as long as he possibly could. But his words failed him, so he kissed Ronon instead.

At first, the feel of his own lips against Ronon's was enough for Spencer. Then he was sucking Ronon's lips, tasting the dinner he'd made at the border of mouth and lip, feeling the rough edge of stubble on skin below a barely chapped edge of smoother texture. He clicked his tongue and Ronon opened for him. Quick, teasing licks back and forth as each of them explored, almost tickled.

When Ronon slid a hand around the back of Spencer's neck, each finger burned impossibly warm and distinct, as if the touch would leave a red sunburn.

Spencer pressed his chest against Ronon's, and that skin blazed surprisingly warm and sensitive as well. Then Ronon licked deep into his mouth and slipped his fingers down below Spencer's waistband to pull him closer. Spencer realized all at once that he was incredibly hard and desperate. The keening sound he'd tried to suppress before filled his throat, and Ronon growled back through their kiss. Then Ronon's hands seemed to be everywhere, caressing and removing clothes. Moving Spencer to his bed. Rolling his balls. Flicking his nipples. He arched off the bed and came before he even knew he was close.

"There. Now I can take some time," Ronon said as he stroked Spencer's side. His lips hovered barely above Spencer's. He kissed lightly across to Spencer's ear and then down his throat.

"I've never done anything like this before," Spencer muttered, opening his eyes when he realized they were closed. He smiled to see Ronon hovering over him and reaching for the drawer with lube and condoms.

Pausing, Ronon asked, "Let someone inside you?"

With a shake of his head Spencer said, "I've done that, but not all the touching and kissing like this. Like the massage before. It's so…sensual, I guess." Talking about it made Spencer self-conscious, and he was glad when Ronon leaned down to kiss him instead. They kissed until Spencer was a shivering puddle supported by the bed.

Then Ronon said, "Told you, I want to touch you all night." He ran his fingers down Spencer's ribs then caressed circles around his nipples. When Spencer couldn't help pushing into his hands, Ronon adjusted to keep the touch light. It was only when Spencer couldn't tell if the touch was still real or an artifact of over-stimulated nerve endings still firing that Ronon ghosted four fingertips over each nipple. Then he did it again and again until Spencer was shaking apart and gasping.

That's when Ronon produced his sample size of jasmine massage oil rather than lube and started to massage Spencer's chest and arms. Staring up at the gorgeous, caring man above him, Spencer lost track of time.

He was so relaxed by the time Ronon worked down and up his thighs, that Spencer forgot they had other plans until a warm finger teased across his hole. All at once, every touch leading up to this moment seemed like foreplay. Spencer tried to relax but found himself gasping instead.

"Easy, Spencer." Ronon kept stroking lightly across the tight hole but his other hand switched to tracing soothing circle's around Spencer's bellybutton. "I didn't learn with this fancy lube you have here. I plan to take my time. Relax. Enjoy."

The way Ronon spoke was slow and deliberate. Spencer's breathing shifted to match. Several times after that, Ronon's finger seemed to drag at the edge but never enter Spencer. Ronon waited until the hole relaxed to catch him before easing a finger inside. Then he traced around as if there wasn't any goal in mind until a second finger found its way alongside. By the time those two fingers happened upon Spencer's sweet spot, he couldn't hold back a short scream.

His cock was fully hard again. Ronon's free hand petted around and under it, down Spencer's thighs and back up to his still hyper-sensitized nipples. The larger man leaned down and kissed Spencer, his fingers pressing deeper and spreading wider as if by accident until there were three. Then Spencer was begging, "Please, now, I'm ready."

"I know," Ronon said. "Just a little more."

He slid in a fourth finger. It limited the way the others could move and made Spencer inpatient. But when Ronon pulled out his fingers and rolled a condom over his now fully erect cock, Spencer realized why he'd needed to be so well stretched first. He may have whined while staring.

"Easy. No rush."

Sure enough, Ronon took his time easing his way in, rocking the wide tip of his cock until it slid into Spencer's hole the way that first finger had. Every inch he moved in was a teasing repetition of pressing forward and easing back. Until he hit Spencer's prostate and Ronon grasped Spencer's hips to keep him from thrashing and hurting them both.

"So good," Ronon soothed.

All Spencer could say was, "Yes, more."

Finally, Ronon made it all the way in, so deep Spencer felt split in half and unable to move. They both stared at each other. Breathed together. Then Ronon smiled and started to move. Long slow strokes that made Spencer moan and keen. Still Ronon wanted to go slow, and Spencer wanted to let him. Again, Spencer lost track of time, drifting, feeling so full.

It was only when something changed—the angle or speed—Spencer wasn't sure what, but suddenly he was desperate again. He moaned and begged, and Ronon sped up a little more and a little more. Then Spencer was coming.

Ronon gritted his teeth and stroked Spencer through it until Ronon joined him with a fierce growl.

Afterward Spencer stared up at Ronon, panting and dripping sweat, until he finally pulled out and disposed of the condom. Then amazingly enough he said, "We need a bath."

#

Spencer would have preferred to just wipe off the worst of the mess and stay in bed. But as Ronon guided Spencer to sit between his legs in a still filling bath, Spencer revised that opinion. He could feel the muscles and areas that were usually sore after that sort of sex relaxing, and he guessed the improvement would be even more noticeable the next day. He relaxed back against Ronon's chest and said, "This was a great idea."

"Hot baths after strenuous work or strenuous sex." Ronon ran a hand up Spencer thigh and across his belly.

"Where did you learn that?"

"Sateda."

"Really?"

"Being constantly at war doesn't mean we we're barbarians." The hand stroking Spencer's abs fell still.

"No, I didn't mean to imply that at all. My mind collects tiny bits of information and sorts them. My file on Sateda is so minimal than any new piece is exciting." When Ronon didn't respond by word or touch, Spencer babbled on. "Here in San Francico, I met a man from Palau who told me when he remarried, he specifically sought out someone from Palau because no one else here appreciated the ocean the way he did. What little I knew of Palau before then was from books, so I was excited he shared that piece of his insight with me."

"Don't know Palau," Ronon said as he relaxed back into the now full tub and slid both hands down the length of Spencer's torso. A faint scent of jasmine surrounded them from the oil Ronon had used earlier.

"It's a country that spans an archipelago of over 300 islands with only 177 square miles of land but rights to 230,000 square miles of ocean. They're a tiny nation and relatively poor, but they've led the way on marine environmental reforms by partnering with other countries, corporations, and nonprofit organizations. They've tested advanced radar, satellite, and drone options for tracking poachers, polluters, and human traffickers. And they were among the first to ban certain types of nets, create a marine no kill zone, and require observers on every tuna boat."

"You knew all that, but were excited about meeting one guy and hearing his biased opinion?"

"A novelist, Robertson Davies, once wrote, 'The eye sees only what the mind is prepared to comprehend.' To understand people, I have to study both their context and their biases."

"You understood me pretty well without context."

Spencer was tracing just below Ronon's knees underwater as he said, "I'd like to understand more."

With a grunt Ronon said, "I'll tell you what I learned about water, in oceans or homes, on Sateda."

Spencer listened to an eclectic series of Satedan stories and sayings about water until the bathwater they sat in grew cool. Then they dried off and climbed into bed together, finally making their way under the covers.

#

For the next week, Ronon visited Spencer almost every night. They shared food from their favorite take out places, but didn't go much of anywhere, because of the pandemic and because Spencer did enough walking for his day job.

They had a lot of sex. Ronon joked about Sheppard and McKay finally getting together and how Teyla was amazingly patient with both their inability to communicate and all the sex they were having. She'd been taking a lot of walks as well as volunteering with Ronon to provide meals for elders. For her, being useful to the local community helped when she couldn't be with her own family or people.

When Ronon walked in Spencer's door this time, all the lights on the device above the door started to flash one after the other. He looked up, still wearing his mask and the inconspicuous clothes he wore for his volunteer job and said, "I should go."

"I don't think so." Spencer's mind was already off and running. "If each light represents one virus, and they all light up together when you press the test button, that looks like an error or some sort of warning. You've never seen or heard about this pattern?"

Ronon shook his head and pulled a small bottle of hand sanitizer from his pocket. He began to slather it on his hands and up his forearms.

"We probably shouldn't ask about this over the phone, and on the off chance you've caught something, it seems wrong to have you walk two miles home to check. So why don't you stay here, run everything you're wearing through the laundry, and wash yourself thoroughly. I'll run over to your place to ask what all the lights running in series means."

"What if you can't come back?"

"I'll take my go bag and stay at your place if need be." Spencer quickly grabbed the go bag he still kept ready in the bedroom closet and motioned Ronon toward the compact washer and drier stacked between his kitchenette and bathroom. Then he rushed out the door and uphill toward the row house where he'd first met Ronon and his team.

When his first knock wasn't answered, he pounded again and louder, more demanding than he would ever be for his census job. As he waited in silence, he heard a series of staccato shouts. He didn't need years of training to differentiate sex sounds from a person in real distress, but he was too worried right now to be patient. He knocked again even more loudly.

The noises from inside stopped and were immediately replaced by McKay ranting in the distance.

This time it was Sheppard who opened the door, and the hand behind his back almost certainly held a weapon. To his credit, he wore both pants and shirt, right side out, and his hair didn't look any worse that the first time they met.

"Reid?" he asked.

"I need to speak with McKay, urgently. May I step inside?"

Sheppard opened the door the rest of the way, and Spencer stepped through with his eyes on the device above their door. This one still glowed blue at his entrance, but nothing else lit up.

At that point Rodney stomped in shirtless with hickeys across his chest and his curls thoroughly mussed. It was a good look on him. His scowl didn't seem half as threatening as usual when he said, "If you pounded on our door like that for anything less than a planetary invasion, I will destroy your credit rating and garnish your future pay to support someone else's children in Alaska."

Part of Spencer's mind was busy cataloging the threat and what it revealed about McKay even as he asked, "What does it mean if the lights on the door sensor go off one after the other and keep repeating?"

McKay looked above his now closed door. Then he looked at Spencer standing just inside. "Here, or at your place?"

"My place, when Ronon walked in the door," Spencer clarified.

"But here you only triggered your usual glow?"

"Yes."

"Someone planted a bug on Ronon. Must have been after he left here, so that limits it to what, four hours?" McKay looked to Sheppard who smirked, as if they'd been at it that whole time, or maybe had been on round two by this point. McKay ignored him, stomping back to the room he'd just been in and reemerging wearing socks that said NASA with a rocket underneath and a long sleeve tee shirt in plain navy blue. "I'll have to check in person, but it's not a disease."

As McKay pulled on shoes and a face mask, Sheppard did the same. Then he pulled on a jacket with an inner pocket for the gun he hadn't set down since opening the door. McKay shook his head, but didn't object. He picked up a bulky laptop case and stowed a couple of extra devices, including the one Spencer had previously concluded was not a handheld video game. For such a talkative man, McKay was unusually quiet as they headed out.

#

When they reached Spencer's door, Sheppard insisted on going first, followed by McKay. He knocked on the door in a five tap pattern Spencer had never heard before, but presumably Ronon would recognize. Sheppard had his weapon drawn as soon as he was inside. McKay fiddled with devices in his laptop case from just outside the door until Sheppard motioned them both in.

Ronon hovered in the bathroom doorway wearing only a towel and with one hand out of sight until McKay said. "It's not a disease warning. When did the lights stop flashing?"

With a nod toward the now running clothes drier, Ronon said, "When I stripped and started laundry."

Spencer could guess from the lingering smell of bleach that Ronon had cleaned everything he'd touched before probably going for another shower. Spencer was eager to ask what Satedans had thought about cleaning that didn't involve water, but shelved those questions for a more appropriate time. As he did thoughts about Ronon wearing just a towel.

McKay stomped over to the drier and started pulling out still damp clothes and tossing them on the nearby kitchen counter. He scanned them with both the game-like device and what appeared to be a standard Earth tablet, but not the one they'd played video on during the massage class.

Finally, McKay turned over the pants Ronon had been wearing—cheap Earth work pants with beltloops on the waistband. From one of the loops, McKay extracted a wire with a black cylinder smaller than a pencil eraser attached to it. After making multiple passes over it with both of his handheld devices, Rodney picked up the bleach container still on the counter, poured some into a bowl, and dropped the cylinder into it.

Then he turned and said to Ronon, "In this case, your virus precautions seem to have worked on a military grade listening device. Any idea who could have planted it on you?"

After only a moment's thought Ronon said, "Steve, carrying boxes of food for volunteers to sort."

"Is that the only person who was close enough all day. Are you sure?" Sheppard asked.

"Social distancing," was all Ronon said.

"Now there's something to thank the pandemic for." Rodney snorted and flailed on arm. "It must make it harder to be a spy, or any other shady government operative. You're staying here tonight?"

Ronon nodded without hesitation.

Then McKay turned to Spencer, "Now you know what that light pattern means if you see it again. You have some sort of FBI training to check for bugs?"

"I do. I'll take precautions."

"I'm going to scan your place before we track down Teyla and get her advice for dealing with this Steve person. Keep your phone on tonight in case we need to call you. Ronon still doesn't have one."

"All right." Spencer had turned his personal phone on after his work shift. He had been turning it off when he went to bed, not feeling the need to be constantly reachable now that he wasn't on call for the BAU. But he could start leaving it on again, and he'd send Penelope the code they used to use when a security breach had been noticed but already taken care of. He worried once again about what he might have dragged her into.

When McKay and Sheppard left, they took the listening device with them to dispose of it properly and promised to check for anyone suspicious outside.

As soon as the door was locked behind them, Ronon pulled Spencer back against him, tight to his chest. "Sorry."

"I should be used to it," Spencer said.

"You're on sabbatical." Ronon nuzzled into Spencer's hair.

"With everything else happening on Earth and in the US right now, this honestly isn't going to add that much more stress to my life." Spencer turned in Ronon's arms, pulling him even closer to say softly by his ear, "It's more than worth it to be with you."

A couple hours later Spencer received a text from McKay that said only: "Problem solved. Busy now. Don't interrupt by replying or anything."

#

A few days later headlines hit the news saying "Instant Virus Detectors Gifted to Hospitals and NGOs Worldwide" and "Miracle Tech at Doctors' Doorways." Spencer read every article he could find. None of them linked the technology to space aliens, although some speculated on secret military technology that had been withheld until now.

Spencer hadn't communicated with Penelope about any of that since his introductory text message, and he certainly wasn't going to now. But somehow, he suspected the simultaneous worldwide distribution had a lot to do with the tech goddess his team had long relied upon and loved. With no further explanation, he sent her a message that said: "You're the best!"

Ronon showed up that night with a bag of Vietnamese take out, kissed Spencer up against the kitchen counter as soon as he set it down, and asked, "You really like your jobs and this planet?"

Normally, Ronon refused to discuss future plans or how long he'd be in San Francisco—or even on Earth. Spencer kissed him back and said as lightly as he could, "You know I do. Does this imply you're leaving soon?"

"I know nothing." Then more seriously Ronon added, "And I might not until the moment something happens."

Spencer sighed and held him close, wondering if the stealth release of virus detectors had moved forward the timeline on official plans. But they'd both known they would end up at least across the country from each other, if not on different planets, by the end of the census.

As they set out their fresh rolls and pho, Ronon said, "I found an oral history that mentioned Palau. It was from a set called 'Gay Men in the Military' created by the GLBT Historical Society right here in San Francisco. It was mostly about troops fighting over an air strip they were supposed to capture in four days, but it took two months and thousands of people died. The man being interviewed was upset about all those who died, but I don't think they were from Palau. He only mentioned Americans and Japanese."

"Do you think the interview is something I should listen to?"

Ronon shrugged. "Any of the hundreds they have. That's only part of the Online Archive of California. I spent hours listening, but some have transcripts. You could read faster."

"What drew you in for hours?" Spencer asked over his soup.

"Broader range of people than I see at work." Ronon smiled as he repeated Spencer's words back to him and tangled their feet together under the table. "Thinking about stories to save, beyond helping people remember Sateda."

"I'd be happy to be a test audience for anything you want to tell about Sateda. I promise, I will remember Sateda."

Spencer didn't explain to Ronon about his eidetic memory. He hadn't explained his ability to read 20,000 words per minute, but Ronon seemed to have picked up on that. Ronon nodded slowly, taking the promise seriously.

Over the course of dinner and after, Ronon shared the basics of his life on Sateda. He started with his place of birth and family background, and Spencer wondered if he was following some sort of oral history script.

They ended up lying in bed talking and touching. It was so ambiguous between cuddling and flirting that Spencer didn't know if the evening would end in sex or not. And it didn't matter. "This is unlike anything I've had with anyone else."

"What this?" Ronon asked as his hand rocked back and forth over Spencer's hip.

"All the touching. Especially the parts that don't involve sex. The ambiguity as to what happens next or what it all means." Spencer flapped one hand in the air until Ronon caught it and brought it to his lips for a brief kiss.

"What do you want it to mean?"

"It's not that. This is better than any—I don't even know what to call it—romantic relationship? But I had an intense romance once before with a woman, Maeve, who I barely met in person before she died." Spencer was tearing up, and wherever the evening was going, he didn't want it to go there. "This is so different that I'm not even sure how the romantic parts would compare. And there are so many other kinds of relationships. I don't know how to explain this to myself, let alone anyone else. The sex is great. All the touching is beyond my experience or ability to compare. And while we'd seem to have little in common, you make sense to me in a way—to parts of me that didn't make sense with anyone else before. But I can't organize what it means to me in my own brain, let alone to tell you."

"You need words," Ronon said while stoking his side. "I can't help with that. But I value this time." He raised a hand to cradle Spencer's face in a way no one else ever had. "Caring and being cared for." He kissed Spencer. "I love you."

Spencer raised his hand to Ronon's face, cradling his bearded jaw in a way he hadn't until that moment. "I love you, too."

#

The next evening, Spencer stepped in his front door and then quickly backed out. He reached for a weapon he hadn't carried in over a month, and only sent his census bag slipping to the ground. As his conscious mind caught up to the signs of a stranger in his home—the glow of an active laptop, smell of fresh coffee, unfamiliar shoes by the door—Spencer realized this probably wasn't a crime in progress.

"Who's there?" Spencer called from outside his own door.

"Ah, sorry. I could say I'm a friend of Sheppard's, but that sounds like a euphemism for something entirely different, especially in current context. I'm an archeologist and linguist who contracts with the US military, but it would be better if we could not shout the rest through your doorway." The man muttered like an absent-minded professor, but even by voice alone, that sounded like a façade.

Spencer wasn't surprised as he stepped inside to see a surprisingly muscular archeologist/linguist pushing his glasses up his nose and shaking a mane of pandemic shaggy hair. Or maybe this person was the type to be absent-minded about haircuts regardless. As well as drinking someone else's coffee.

As Spencer set down his census bag and badge and closed the door he said, "Who are you and why are you in my apartment?"

"Daniel Jackson. I work with General O'Neill at Stargate Command." He jumped up from the futon and offered his hand to shake, a gesture that suggested how far from normal society he must have been recently. Spencer drew his hands back instinctively, and Jackson continued barely missing a beat. "The IOA moved up the job we need you for, um, to tonight, but no one seemed to know how to get a hold of you while you were working. Are you seriously on sabbatical from the BAU to go door to door for the census?"

Not feeling he owed this person in his living room any sort of explanation, Spencer went to the kitchen, washed his hands, drank a full glass of water, and then fixed himself coffee before answering.

"I haven't exactly been told what my job for Stargate Command entails. Have you brought any sort of file or briefing materials?" Spencer asked. When Jackson started to shake his head, Spencer stepped closer to his knife drawer and asked, "Can you offer any proof that you are who you say you are and not someone sent to abduct me and gather classified intel?"

The tired look of disbelief and the way Jackson's shoulder slumped at that read as authentic, and he wasn't setting off any red flags in Spencer's mind. But showing up uninvited in Spencer's living room reflected someone's entitlement and power play, if not Jackson's own, then some other in his chain of command. Jackson pulled out an ID and Spencer left the knife drawer closed and pulled out his cell phone instead. He'd kept it turned off while working and had to wait half a minute before he could call McKay.

"What? Why are you calling me? Do you have any idea how busy we are—"

Spencer cut into the impending rant before McKay could get too heated, "Someone broke into my home and claims his name is Daniel Jackson. He says he's a friend of Sheppard's and O'Neill's? I have no way to verify his story or ID."

"Serve him right if you took him out and asked questions later. But that man's come back from the dead more times than anyone I know, so it probably wouldn't slow him down much. Luck of the draw says the squishy brained linguist gets to take you into space. Don't interrupt me again." McKay hung up.

The mock innocent look Jackson gave over his glasses indicated he'd heard McKay's shouting loud and clear. It was the sort of look Spencer fell back on his first few years at the BAU, but it was far less convincing, bordering on ironic, coming from this older academic with a surprisingly military bearing.

"So you're taking me into space. Anything I need to pack?"

"Not really. Shouldn't take more than a couple hours if all goes well."

"Right, I've heard that before." Spencer grabbed his go bag, some well-sealed snacks, and a water bottle.

#

It turned out the cloaked spaceship was parked on the roof of a temporarily closed recreation center. It was invisible until Jackson did something that revealed what must be the mini-van of spaceships. From the outside it was basically a metal cylinder with sloping ends.

The moment Spencer touched it, he understood what having the ATA gene truly meant. He was born to handle this technology. When he wondered idly what was in a storage unit, the door slid open. He was curious if the front window only showed the view outside, and it immediately lit up with a star chart and data table Spencer barely understood.

"Oh yeah, you've got it bad," Jackson said. "An hour of training and they wouldn't need me to act as chauffeur."

The sad smile as he said it left Spencer certain Jackson was meant to keep an eye on Spencer as much as to drive him around, but local police and teams from other federal agencies pulled the same all the time with BAU cases. And they didn't bring spaceships. "Teach me the basics as we go, and we'll both be better off in an emergency."

"Don't say stuff like that where the Air Force folks can hear. They'll think you've jinxed the whole operation." Despite his token protest, Jackson explained what he was doing as they rose into the sky. The whole time Spencer felt the mental interface like a puppy staring at him, begging for attention. It was clear the ship preferred his strong ATA over whatever Jackson had.

Apparently, all they needed to do was rise straight up. Spencer had a great view of the Golden Gate and Bay Bridge before the land below was shrouded in clouds.

When the numbers on the data table stopped changing and the view outside the window stilled, a split video display popped up. On one side, it showed a gray-haired Air Force General looking stiff and uncomfortable in a metal reclining chair. The other side showed John Sheppard, wearing some sort of black uniform with insignia on the shoulders that Spencer couldn't quite make out. He was sprawled back as if his slightly shinier and more streamlined metal recliner was his favorite chair in the world. Or possibly off it.

The blue glow behind each man's head appeared to be a larger version of what Spencer had triggered during his fateful census visit.

"O'Neill, Sheppard, this is Jackson. I have Reid in position,"

"Let him make nice with the Jumper for a bit. It looks like we need to take Atlantis farther out," Sheppard said in a slow drawl.

"You're halfway to the moon already," the older man, who must be General O'Neill, grumbled.

"Can't argue with the city, sir." Sheppard's "sir" sounded perfunctory to Spencer's ears, and he wondered how much history the two men, and probably everyone else involved, had between them. The exchange only added to Spencer's suspicions as to why Sheppard's team had been housed away from Atlantis and that chair.

Then McKay came into view, working at a large touchscreen console with two smaller devices perched beside it. "My report clearly detailed the possibility that installing a new shield system would require Atlantis to move beyond the potential range of the new shield. That's why we need to relay the transfer protocols through a Jumper with a suitable pseudo-Ancient. While this new system will barely be able to power and hold a shield that blocks half the Earth from a mile out for a few minutes, you could shield a narrow corridor more than halfway to the moon, as you so precisely put it. The system is designed to be versatile in case, for example, you needed to fly a Jumper through a shielded corridor."

"Hey, Reid, if you can fly in a straight line, you'll be doing better than McKay after all these years," Sheppard chimed in.

"They've only cleared a five-mile radius of airspace on the ocean side of San Francisco," McKay spoke even as his hands were moving across two different devices. "Even I can fly a straight line for five miles."

"But they're cleared up to low Earth orbit," Sheppard said, "so that gives him, what, a hundred miles to practice in?"

Spencer didn't need more hints than that to grab what might be his only opportunity to fly in space. He thought "up" at the Jumper and it automatically highlighted a number in miles that represented elevation in the data table he had barely made sense of before. He stopped at 99, just before a red indicator appeared.

"Nice straight line," Sheppard said. "Anyone want to bet he can do a barrel roll?"

"I'll bet," that voice was Ronon's. Although Spencer couldn't see him, his stomach fluttered at the sound.

He rolled the Jumper over and over, flipping their view from dark space to light clouds. He could hear Ronon chuckle in the background. When Ronon said "nice" in a meaningful low voice, Spencer made the Jumper spin faster.

Eventually, Jackson said from beside him, "Could we concede proof of concept and stop now? Even with inertial dampeners, I have to close my eyes to handle this much spinning."

"Lay off my geek," O'Neill said. "You've had your fun, and making his life miserable is my job. Come on, Sheppard, surely you have that hunk of city-ship far enough out by now."

"Just enjoying the new pilot enthusiasm. Sure you don't want to ship out with us, Reid?" Sheppard asked.

Whatever objectivity Spencer had learned as a profiler was useless in that moment. He thought he heard a hint of real invitation in the question. With what Ronon had said about not knowing when he was leaving until something happened, Spencer suspected plans within and without of official plans. Not that anyone had told him why he'd been met in his room and taken straight to a spaceship this evening without notice or training. The way McKay used a long Jumper-sized corridor in his shield example didn't seem coincidental either.

But however much Spencer enjoyed Ronon's company and might even have tried to maintain a long distance relationship across the US, he wasn't ready to run off into space with his alien lover leaving his mom, two jobs, and whatever military concerns without notice or permission. If Ronon or his teammates were planning something, Spencer could only hope they'd stay on good enough terms with Earth to come back and visit. In the lightest tone he could manage, Spencer said, "Much as I'd like to, I think I'll stay close to Earth for a while."

"Fair enough. Can you think about opening a communications relay at full capacity for an incoming message? The message contains all the routing instruction. You might have to agree that all is safe and secure a few times, but that's pretty much your only responsibility in this."

Spencer thought at the ship the same way he had to do a barrel roll. If the Jumper made one more lazy roll while Spencer reassured it all was well, Jackson didn't complain.

Then O'Neill said on screen, "Receiving loud and clear. Just keep it coming."

Both O'Neill and Sheppard had their eyes closed in their video feeds, as if they had to concentrate for their part of the work. Around him, Spencer felt like the ship was buzzing, almost literally, he could feel something akin to vibrations from a speaker even if he couldn't hear any noise.

No one spoke for several long minutes until Sheppard said, "That's all of it."

"Message received," O'Neill replied. "Hold on a moment while the tech types do their checksums or whatever and try out a small practice shield."

"Bet you, Spencer can do a loop-de-loop." This time Ronon stepped into view behind McKay's back so Spencer could see the smile on his face. Teyla said something off camera that Spencer didn't catch, but it didn't matter.

"Remind me, does that involve one loop or two?" Spencer asked with a smile.

"Show me what you've got," Ronon crossed his arms and said.

Jackson closed his eyes and said, "Why me? You aren't even Air Force."

Spencer looped backward a dozen times, then added a twist to each loop. Then he repeated the whole routine forward.

When he finished, Ronon was still on camera. He said "perfect" and raised both eyebrows suggestively.

After that, McKay batted Ronon aside with an impatient arm gesture and said, "Your shield test looks fine from here. But our systems are refusing to let us land Atlantis within your shield range so long as the new system is in place. Looks like our time visiting Earth is over."

"You don't say." O'Neill did not sound entirely surprised.

"We have enough food and crew onboard to fly back to Pegasus safely," Sheppard cut in. Finally opening his eyes, although he stayed in his glowing metal chair. "You can send any other personnel or supplies through the Gate as usual."

"Well, the IOA approved sending you back a while ago," O'Neill shrugged as he sat up from his metal chair and the blue light dimmed. "Negotiating the official departure conditions was what turned it into a diplomatic headache, but if we can't have Atlantis on Earth anymore, I'm sure the diplomats will sort it out. Sending through my authorization now."

The sigh Jackson gave at that pronouncement spoke of headaches in the near future for plenty of others besides diplomats. It also conveyed a resignation and familiarity that confirmed to Spencer that Jackson wasn't wholly surprised by this turn of events.

The split video screens disappeared from the Jumper's front window. The star chart zoomed in enough to show a small blue arrow heading outward past Earth's moon. For a moment, Spencer wondered if he'd turned down the opportunity of a lifetime. Then the Jumper buzzed around him, and he knew whatever he'd experienced in the last couple of weeks was just a beginning.

Jackson even let Spencer fly them back to the landing site on the recreation center roof in San Francisco.

#

Less than two hours after Spencer returned home, he received a link and a message from Penelope that said: "Thought you might need cheering up. Take a look at this great project where I've agreed to oversee the local archive. The password is a place name I think you'll remember."

Spencer clicked on the link that led to an oral history project for previously unknown communities. He typed in the password "Sateda" and a list of recordings appeared. For the time being, there were only two interviewees, Ronon and Teyla, but the page promised more would be coming soon. In moments, a familiar voice filled his room with a story he was only beginning to understand.

The End


End file.
